


Laying Low

by LyraLilyJackson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fill-in-the-Blank, Gen, Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9398966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraLilyJackson/pseuds/LyraLilyJackson
Summary: After the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Dumbledore told Sirius to lay low at Remus' for a while. Remus would have scoffed if he heard that; did Dumbledore really think twelve years of despair, doubt and betrayal could be shoved aside, just like that? A story that bridges the gap in Remus and Sirius' friendship between the events in the shack and the formation of the Order.





	

It’s Mrs. Hailsham who first points out to Remus that everything is not as it normally is.

Remus is kneeling in slightly overgrown grass and mending the fence that wraps around the house (wishing that old Mrs. Hailsham would just finish her evening walk and reach her house over the hill so that he can use his wand on this _stupid_ thing and stop injuring himself with the hammer) when Mrs. Hailsham sees him and (predictably) stops to chat.

She has been his neighbor six years- long enough to know that Remus Lupin is an odd, depressed poor soul living in his family home but not long enough to know that Remus once lived a glorious life somewhere else and that the main reason he lives here now is because his mother refuses to take anything more than pittance in rent and most importantly because this house has a _cellar_ – and always stops to talk when she sees him because she thinks he’s lonely. (She’s right, but that is a topic Remus refuses to get into.)

They’re making small talk about the weather when Mrs. Hailsham looks down the lane the way she came and exclaims, “Upon my word! Lord, look at the size of that dog!”

Remus stands up and looks over the fence to see a huge, furtive, black filthy rag of a dog (that could pass for a wolf in the right light, a familiar, long gone voice whispers in his head) and the only thing worse than the fact that the dog starts barking and running right at them as soon as Remus stands is the fact that Remus recognizes the dog all too well.

The _mutt_ is saved from Mrs. Hailsham hitting it across the nose with the evening paper by Remus saying, “Oh, that’s my friend’s dog. He dropped it off earlier. He had some work in London; he’ll be arriving here tomorrow morning.”

Remus has not hesitated, has no qualms about lying; in his situation, it is a necessity, it is an _art._ At any rate, if Mrs. Hailsham spies a strange tall man around Remus’ house tomorrow, she will not be alarmed. The furred miscreant barks and noses at the fence, obviously wanting to be let _in_. Remus ignores it.

“Oh, I see… A _special_ friend, then? To trust you with his dog?” Her beady eyes are fixed on him.

Remus grins wryly, never sure exactly what it is about his straw-coloured-hair-going-grey and ratty-jumper-and-jeans-clad person that makes Mrs. Hailsham question his sexuality. No one else ever has. (He hopes she doesn’t notice the clearly affronted look the dog is giving her.)

“No, just an old one.” He says blandly. “We happened to meet last year after a long time and decided to reconnect when we had the chance.” This, at least, by the loosest definition, is the truth.

“Well, your friend’s dog seems to like you very much,” Mrs. Hailsham observes, warily eyeing the aforementioned, who has run to Remus’ gate and is barking at it.

“That’s because I’m even more of a dog-person than he is.”

Mrs. Hailsham chuckles good naturedly, (she wouldn’t, if she knew how true that is) gives up on digging for information, bids him good evening and continues on her way home. Remus opens the gate, lets the creature in and on pretense of squatting-down-ruffling-fur as those interacting with dogs are wont to do, hisses in a furred ear, “ _Don’t you dare change yet, she likes to linger, hoping for gossip.”_

The dog whimpers in agreement and Remus notices with a pang how under the matted, shaggy fur, the dog is terribly thin.

“C’mon,” he says, leading the way round the house and into the kitchen, “I’ll scrounge up some food for us.”

Remus does not have much. A little chicken his mum sent over, bread, some stew. Since the dog shows no sign of moving from where it has flopped on his kitchen floor, Remus heats up some stew and most of the chicken in a plate and places it in front of his furred guest. The way the dog falls on the food twists something deep inside Remus, and he tips the rest of the chicken into the dog’s plate and resigns himself to a dinner of bread and stew. By the time Remus is finished with his food, the dog is fast asleep. He finds a blanket and covers the thin body with it. They can deal with things in the morning. However, when he crawls into bed, it is a long time before the cocktail of trepidation, anger, guilt and hope he feels lets him sleep.

Xxx

In the morning when Remus wakes, his rattiest shirt and oldest pair of jeans are missing from the washing line outside, the small downstairs bathroom has been used, and the blanket has been folded neatly and left on the kitchen chair. His guest is nowhere in the house. His heart starts beating erratically. If he has been used as a pit stop, he will well and truly lose his temper, never mind that he is not the accused mass murderer in this pantomime. (At least that is new, him not being the most dangerous man in the room. _Ha_.)

He has to walk right out into the garden before he sees the man standing under the tree, staring out at the hills. (Standing too stiffly for Remus not to realize that the man knows Remus is behind him.)

“Breakfast.” Remus says, and heads back into the house before the man turns. He is too much of a coward to face him yet, doesn’t want to see the face that had haunted the papers a year ago, but more than anything, scared that he will see the face of an old friend.

Both of them manage to avoid each other’s gaze right until the buttered toast and tea is set on the table and there is nothing else to do but eat. And they called themselves Gryffindors, once. But the easy camaraderie, the relief, the shared satisfaction of promised retribution from that night in the shack feels like too little in the light of day.

Someone must be the proactive one here, so Remus sits down and looks up.

Sirius looks…a little healthier than the Azkaban photograph, but not much. Sunken eyes, painfully thin face, long, matted hair. He looks like shite, and Remus says as much.

Sirius lets out a dry chuckle that falls flat. “The caves outside Hogsmeade don’t exactly have first rate service, unfortunately.”

His mouth stretches in the approximation of a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, Sirius’ silver-grey eyes are filled with a darkness, a death like quality that should never have been there. And the deepest, most visceral part of Remus (the part that recognizes the darkness in his friend’s eyes too well) wants to take the pain and despair of the past thirteen years, everything they’ve accumulated between the two of them and _shove_ it into Peter Pettigrew, pour it into him till it sinks as deep as it has in Sirius’ eyes and Remus’ soul.

Instead, he asks, “And Harry-?”

Sirius closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, his shoulders slumping with what a casual observer would say was weariness. Remus knows better. He sees the guilt that has buried itself deep in Sirius as clearly as if it were imprinted across his face. At this point, Remus can’t care as much as he will later. He is still so, so very ( _hurt, disappointed, lonely)_ angry.

“Harry will be fine.” Sirius says, but it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than anything else. “He won the Tournament. But-” and here words seem to fail Sirius, because his mouth works, but no sounds come out. Remus straightens, a sense of dread growing in his belly. He wants to ask for details, exact facts, but. First things first.

“First of all, Sirius,” Remus says slowly, clearly, (he has to get this right the first time, he won’t be able to get the words out again) “We need to talk.”

There is a brief moment of silence as they both wait for a wry joke about Remus acting like a fussy girlfriend that the old Sirius would have made. But neither of them are the same as who they used to be _before._

Sirius looks down at the table. “Moony.” He says, and Remus is shocked to hear his voice come out splintered, shaky. No, this is not the Sirius that used to be.

“Moony. I know, I know… you have so much to blame me for. Twelve years of- of absolute shit that could have been avoided. But please, before you say anything,” and here Sirius looks up, and in his eyes Remus sees all that pain, all the guilt and devastation that Sirius has been carrying around deep inside himself, masked in a way Remus is intensely familiar with, after all, he wears a similar mask every day.

“Before you _talk,_ ” Sirius whispers (and _oh,_ the emphasis on that word is so good to hear, because it means that somewhere, the old Sirius still survives) “You should know that being innocent may save someone from letting Azkaban drive them mad, but nothing more. Whatever you have to say to me, Moony, I have spent months, years hearing it. From ghosts of our friends, from screams in my sleep, sometimes it seems to echo on those stones.  Everything you blame me for, _I know_. Merlin, Remus, _I know. They made sure I never forgot. That every moment, I knew.”_  

Remus closes his eyes as his (companion? executioner? _best friend?_ ) stares him down. Because despite everything, he _knows_ this man, this shadow that was his most exuberant friend, once. And this confession is the bravest thing Sirius has ever done. (Walking into danger, breaking laws for friends is what people might consider brave. But Sirius Black never had a problem with those things. Revealing his true self and vulnerabilities, though, that was something Sirius never got the hang of.)

He opens his eyes, matches that silver-grey gaze. “Occasionally, you will annoy me, and it _will_ come out,” he says. “You should have trusted me. We could have- Harry could have been- Maybe-” Remus stops, swallows the broken words. There isn’t a point to this anymore. Sirius knows this. Has spent twelve years with only this for company. So he lets go. Everything he has held against Sirius, everything he still holds against him, he lets go with a heavy sigh.

“But Sirius, I-I know. _Of course._ I know. And I’m sorry too. I should have realized that you could have _never_ -”

Sirius stops him with a raised hand and tired smile. “Nothing, Moony. You should have realized nothing. The plan was a good one. It worked, just not in the way I meant it to. So, thank you, really, for that night at Hogwarts. Harry would have never trusted me without you.”

Remus doesn’t know how to answer that (some things will always be a little raw) so they relapse into silence. But this silence is different, calmer, lacking the tugs and tension and fragility of the previous one. A silence between old friends.

But the world keeps turning, and the outside demands attention, and the question of why Sirius arrived here in the first place still burns, so Remus asks. And then listens with dawning horror and dread of an altogether different kind as Sirius tells Harry’s tale. He sees now why Sirius is not sure that Harry is all right. ( _Fourteen,_ that kid is only _fourteen,_ he doesn’t need this, doesn’t need more burdens on his small, yet impossibly strong shoulders. For Merlin’s sake, he’s a _child and they threw him headfirst into impossible danger._ ) He’s not surprised about Voldemort. Horrified about the way it happened, but not surprised. Everything that has been happening these past thirteen years has never felt like peace, but rather a deceptive calm before a storm. And Remus listened to whispers in the dark, and Dumbledore had never been sure that Voldemort was gone. (And Peter. Peter always ran towards the biggest bully.)

As Sirius ends his narrative, Remus heaves a sigh. “So the Ministry is turning on us, then?”

His friend scoffs. “Have they ever really been _with_ us? This isn’t new, for either of us.”

Remus shakes his head. “I had hoped that at least they would acknowledge that something is wrong.” But even as he says this he knows it’s not true. The mighty Ministry, with all its grand show and posturing, has always been quick to ignore those they deem less than worthy, Remus knows this better than anyone. Beneath those sleek words and prudent rules, there is a web of ignorance, of cowardice and lassitude.

Instead, he shifts to other matters. “The Order will reassemble once more. But with so many of us gone…”

“We will have new members. The Weasleys are with us, they know about me.” Sirius interrupts. “And others will join. I’ve been hearing a lot in the past few months, Remus, and there are people who have realized that things are beginning to go wrong, just like the first time he rose to power. We have to start fighting, and soon, before Voldemort grows stronger. Before it becomes like last time.” There is a steady resolve in Sirius’ voice now, one that has always given hope and Remus thinks, perhaps, this time they’ll do it. They’ll meet the coming storm, and they will survive it.

As ever, his practical side reminds him of certain pressing issues. The Order needs a new home, since Edgar Bones is long gone and his house reduced to an ownership parchment in a Gringott’s vault. He turns to Sirius. “We’ll need a headquarters.”

“About that,” Sirius says, and he smiles a humourless yet perversely amused smile that reminds Remus of dangerous pranks and life or death Order missions. “I have an idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> AN: If Mrs Hailsham’s assumption that a blond, jumper-wearing, unassuming, tired looking man would be gay seems vaguely familiar to you, it’s because it’s a tribute to a character from another fandom, and if you recognize this reference, I hope the east wind didn’t knock you down completely. ;)  
> Thank you for reading, and do share your thoughts on this piece!  
> -LLJ.


End file.
